


In John's Dreams

by luvscharlie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fanfiction, Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-08
Updated: 2010-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvscharlie/pseuds/luvscharlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds comfort in the darkness when Mary visits his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In John's Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Angst   
> Notes: Originally written for Week 7 at fandom_fridays on Live Journal where the prompt was a steamy, sultry, breathtaking kiss and Jar Journal Prompt 2A What did you dream last night? at spnwriterlounge on Live Journal

**John:**

I find comfort in the darkness. When I close my eyes, we are whole again. Our tiny family once more complete; Mary has come back to us. It all seems so real, but even in the surreal state of my dreams I know it is not.

So I pray that I might sleep forever; that the morning light will remain at bay. Because when I lay my head against my pillow and close my eyes in fitful sleep, she is there once again. She stands before the window, the moonlight streaming in to outline her body, just the same in death as it was in life, clad only in the sheer, white nightgown she loved so much. I gave it to her for her birthday; the very last one she ever celebrated. It was always my favorite and I remember how happy she was when she lost all of her "baby weight" from Sammy and fit into it for the first time. I follow every slender curve, drink them in with my eyes willing her silently not to go away this time… to stay with me through the dark and remain when the sun came out to warm my skin. But I know that's not the way this works.

"Did you miss me, John?"

My heart plummets because I know it's a dream for certain then. I always hope, somewhere in the back of my mind that this time she might be flesh and blood, come back to reclaim a life cut short too soon. But the dream always starts with that very question: 'Did you miss me, John?' As though each minute of my every waking (and sleeping) hour isn't filled with thoughts of her—always of her. After all, she was my everything. Were it not for the boys, I think I would have chosen to follow her into the arms of death and been only too happy to do so. But the boys need me, and she'd never forgive me if I were to leave them alone. She died saving them; it was my job to continue her work now. She left them in my care, and I'd never betray her trust.

I often wonder if I had the chance to do it over again, if I would have kept her from going up to Sammy's room that night. If I would have sacrificed my youngest son to keep her with me. I'd like to think I'm a good enough father—a good enough person--to never sacrifice my child for any reason—but the hole she left in my heart is so large and painful that my mind drifts to those horrible thoughts often. I do miss her so.

She shakes her head as though she can hear my thoughts—and maybe she can. She offers me comfort that she believes I'm a good person, that I wouldn't have changed it all, even when I question my own worth.

She comes to me then, her arms outstretched, and that's the pity of dreams. When she wraps them around my neck, I can't feel them. As much as I want it to be there, there's no warmth in her embrace, but funnily enough her hair smells of strawberries just as it always did.

"I have missed you so much, John. My boys. Do tell me about them. They're safe? They're happy? Oh, how Dean must miss me."

And I do. I tell her how Sammy's taken his first steps, and Dean grows ever quieter, which would concern me more if he weren't so much like me—always the little trooper. I promise her that I'll take care of them always, that I'll never let them forget her; I'd never let her down. "Don't worry, Mary. I'll take good care of them. But I wish, oh how I wish you were here. Boys need a mother, and I try but I'm not like you. I don't know how to tell bedtime stories that aren't frightening or to make those pancakes that Dean loves so much and--"

"I know," she whispers back. "But I'll never be far away."

"But this thing that killed you. I'll—" And I know before I say it that she won't let me finish. These visits aren't for talk of that unpleasantness.

"Shhh!" she whispers. Then she leans in, her hands clasp my face between them, and her lips press so warm and firm against mine. And unlike that dream embrace, her kiss feels so real. It's always just as it was when she was walking and breathing in life… and it still has the power to steal away my breath and send my brain to reeling. Her lips are demanding as they open over mine, and her tongue begs entrance which I am ever so glad to grant. Her kiss is all tongue and teeth, both tender and feral, sloppy and sweet all at once. Everything good and heartbreaking pours from me as she sucks the air from my lungs leaving me breathless and empty in her arms…

And those nightly kisses are everything I live for now that Mary is gone.

 **Mary:**

I know better than this, really I do. I was a hunter after all. I know the perils that come with hanging on too tightly to what was yours in life. But how do you let go of children that need you (almost as much as you need them) and a husband who you love more than you loved life (when you had one left to live)? The answer's so simple. You don't. So I cling to this unearthly existence floating in and out of John's dreams, the only place I seem able to reach him.

I exist solely for those little morsels of information which John feeds me nightly of my boys. I don't visit them. I could, but there's always that fear they'd see me, and Heaven knows they're going to see enough all too soon. I fear that seeing me might lead them to believe they have nothing to fear from things not of this world… and that mistaken comfort might one day culminate in a fatal error on their part. I would never forgive myself if that were to happen.

I promise myself that every time I visit John's dreams that this will be my last time. It's unfair to bind John to me the way I do. He deserves a life. Perhaps he would even find someone else. And I begin every visit with the promise that this time will be my last… I owe him peace. But all of that staunch resolve that I've worked so hard to build up melts away when my lips touch his. The moment my tongue slips into his mouth, I begin to count the hours when John will close his eyes once more and I can visit him in his dreams… yet again.

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